


One for the Record

by smallsteps32



Series: The Other Side [6]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Christmas Special, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas at MJN had never gone smoothly, but this year Douglas hoped that it would at least be peaceful. With good company and a little bet in the works, there's no reason why it couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One for the Record

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my series of AU fics, but takes place in Douglas' universe (as I remembered that some people wanted to know what happened with them). Just some cute fluff that came to me.
> 
> I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas!!!

**One For the Record**

If there was one thing that MJN had perfected, brought to an absolute pinnacle of perfection, it was ruining Yuletide, discarding the Winter Solstice, and making an utter massacre out of civilised Christmas celebrations. December 25th was nothing in the face of Fitton’s worst and only airline.

Not that Douglas Richardson normally cared. Normally he was faced with an empty house, no daughter, and a gruelling day’s work hurling GERTI from place to place, making even Arthur’s indomitable cheer incapable of piercing his apathy. This year however, he found himself injected with a delightful amount of Christmas cheer; this year the season had brought with it enough spirit to keep a smile on his face, even as Carolyn booked the entire Christmas week for a standby in the porta-cabin.

Perhaps it was the fact that his daughter would be coming to stay the week _after_ Christmas, which nicely coincided with his week off. Perhaps it was the pleasant weather, far from the gale force winds of last year. Perhaps, and rather more bewilderingly, it was the singular presence of Martin Crieff in his life, which had become all the more significant in the stead of the traumatising incident that they were _never to mention_.

Once the initial trepidation had been pushed aside, it was rather odd, but bafflingly pleasant, for Douglas to muse upon the odd turn that their relationship had taken…in as much as it had become a…well, a _relationship._

It had been strange at first, hell it was still strange, to accept the fact that the two men, two ‘mates’, colleagues, friends…whatever he and Martin had been to each other…it had been a struggle, the sort that came with tongues in cheeks, to accept that maybe, just maybe, they might want something more from each other. The troubling truth had been unceremoniously thrust in their faces during the _incident_ , followed by a…it had been quite a touching _date_ actually, if Douglas admitted it to himself.

Douglas would have been a fool to say that he had never enjoyed Martin’s company; the man for all of his flaws, and there were _many_ , was his best friend. The _incident_ had merely made that startlingly clear. And once the idea was in their heads, both of their heads, the possibility was there, it was planted, and it was impossible to discard the itching feeling that they might just have found their perfect match, be it in a quarrelling opponent, or a companion.

That wasn’t to say it hadn’t been difficult to set the idea straight in his head. But Martin had made the first step – Martin, who was so lonely so often had realised that having that _connection_ , having someone to _be_ his best friend, to want his company regardless of all of his wrongs…he had abandoned any preconceived notions of himself, of Douglas, and just pursued it. The man was ruthless once he set his mind on something, no matter how ridiculous he appeared; seven goes at his CPL…well, he was a stubborn bastard.

Luckily for him, Douglas was also a stubborn bastard, something that Martin knew. If Martin could man up, so could he…and so Douglas had shirked any fragile sense of masculine pride that he might have been clinging to and accepted that Martin was attractive in his own way, and more than that, he made him _happy_ …the past few years at MJN had been the best of his life since Martin had turned up.

So they were in a relationship…sort of. They were taking baby steps, nothing to serious, and definitely nothing public…nothing too big, no grand gestures, nothing to upset the precarious balance of their friendship, already curiously unsettled by the new ground that they had uncovered thanks to the _incident_.

Nights in, nights out, testing the waters with physical contact and, god forbid – _compliments_ …honesty was something important in a relationship, _any_ relationship, and Douglas knew that if he and Martin had a hope of remaining friends, let alone succeeding in cementing something more permanent, they had to be honest. So he had tried saying nice things about Martin, complimenting him, seeing how Martin responded…and lo and behold, Martin did the same.

Feelings were a different sort of honesty, but Douglas swallowed his pride and made himself do it. Things like ‘ _I like it when…’_ or _‘You’re…’_ or _‘I feel…_ ’…anything to make it clear that he was actually feeling something.

One morning when Douglas was cooking breakfast in his flat, after the third time Martin had stayed over, he had stepped back to allow Martin to fuss over the bacon, arms folded as he watched the prissy Captain run his hands through his already disastrous ginger hair and groan through his teeth as the pan knocked to the side.

“You should come over more often.” Douglas had remarked in an offhand manner, taking care to keep his tone soft, with just a slither of his usual bounce so as not to make Martin think that he was lying; his stomach rebelled at such bare-faced, sentimental honesty that he had never shown to anyone but his wives, but he carried on anyway, because in truth…he felt more connection to Martin than he had any of them, no matter how much he had loved them, “I like having you here.”

Martin had turned abruptly at the sound of his voice, spatula held aloft, teeth between his lips as his throat bobbed. If Douglas had wanted to describe the look on his face, it would have been stunned, utterly caught off guard as a blush rose to his cheeks, like a teenage girl having been told that she had the most stunning eyes in the room.

“Really?” Martin retorted, shoulders bobbing lopsidedly under the same smart shirt he had been wearing the night before, as he eyed Douglas with slightly less suspicion than he was accustomed to.

“ _Really.”_ Douglas replied, smirking and rolling his eyes as he stepped to Martin’s side and took the spatula from his hand to prod at the browning bacon; their elbows brushed as Martin twirled hastily on his heel, but Douglas simply nudged him companionably in return, taking some relief from being able to divert his focus somewhat, “If I didn’t, I’d be awfully miffed about you taking up so much of my time.”

“Oh, well, I-I um…I like _being_ here.” Martin replied, stammering slightly as he wound his hands together at his front; one glance to the side, and his bashful smile was clear, lighting up his face with a charming mixture of nerves and renewed confidence that had endeared him to Douglas throughout the blazing disputes, “W-with you, I mean…it’s a lot nicer than being on my own – not that you’re a cop-out, b-because you’re not.”

“Eloquently put Captain.” Douglas chuckled, as he tilted backwards just enough to avoid Martin’s hands as they flew splayed into the air, taking the pan off of the heat as he did so; he could only smile and catch Martin’s eyes as he preened, lingering a moment on the pompous set of his shoulders as he did so. The bloody idiot didn’t half brighten his day, especially as getting a compliment from him was like trying to draw blood from a stone.

And then of course, Martin completed his awkward little flustering with a ‘manly’ nudge, curling his fist and gently bumping it against Douglas’ arm, before passing behind him, patting the same arm and running his hand over his shoulder as he disappeared into the sitting room. Somehow, and Douglas had yet to discover why, the more homosexual activities Martin indulged in, the more he seemed to think it appropriate to act like a _manly_ bloke, emulating the fire-crew that he saw about the airfield.

It didn’t suit him at all, but it made him happy; at least, the cheerful smile never left his face as he thumped Douglas on the back, and then shyly hovered to see if anything else would happen (a kiss, a hug, he never seemed particularly bothered what).

Besides, it was something to tease him about later, when Douglas was sure that their relationship wasn’t so fragile that it might shatter under too much pressure.

All in all, Douglas was filled with Christmas spirit even though they would be spending it in the porta-cabin, bereft of anything even slightly festive, and under the watchful eyes of their colleagues, neither of whom knew about their pilots’ dalliances. Although, Arthur might have suspected something…one never knew with that lad.

They were all together though, which was something to be grateful for he supposed. There had been a short while, earlier in the year, during which they had all been prepared to bid Martin adieu and ship him off to Switzerland never to enjoy another Christmas with the crew…but that had fallen through. In the early days of their relationship, which had taken months to really get going, both of them had been careful about arguing, but that had gone out of the window when Douglas discovered that Martin had lied about being offered the job.

But Martin had sat him down, after refusing to speak to him for a week, and explained exactly what he was going to do. He had made it clear that he was an adult and therefore didn’t have to listen to any of them, that there would always be more jobs…that he was well aware of how inept he was even as Douglas insisted that that was a bit harsh…Martin made it clear that he had to take a gamble.

Bet on a job at Swiss Air working out until he messed it up, or bet on his tentative relationship with Douglas working out until he messed it up…and at least with Douglas he knew, sort of, what he was doing.

Which was exactly the sort of soppy, overly romantic gesture that Douglas was terribly affected by; damn manliness to hell, he was a sucker for a grand gesture, even if he wasn’t the one making it.

Now it was Christmas time and Douglas was glad that he had decided to stay.

oOoOoOo

There had never been a hope in hell of persuading Carolyn to let them have the day off, but Douglas was in a good enough mood to try. He even went so far as to sit in the chair opposite her, elbows up on the desk, charming smile plastered on his lips as he faced her down; it had never done much good before, but as she sat there regally, he thought that perhaps today might be his lucky day.

“Douglas, this is not up for negotiation.” Carolyn sighed, as she pushed the last of a pile of folders to the side and pulled up the keyboard for her computer; she was making a point of only sparing him fleeting glances, as if that had ever dissuaded him from anything, “You are staying here today, Christmas or not, because I am paying you to do so.”

“Oh, Carolyn, think of the festivities of the season.” Douglas exclaimed, shaking his head in what he hoped was a subtle, manipulative way, sure to persuade her via subliminal suggestion or something ridiculous like that, “Think of how much more Christmas spirit you could muster if you were at home instead of here, on this dusty, chilly wasteland of an airfield.”

“We are on standby.” Carolyn repeated the same words that had left her mouth at least four times since Douglas had entered her office, fixing him with a wrinkled, yet no less carnivorous glare as he hands hovered above the keys, “What do you suggest we do if I send you home and then the client calls?”

“I could promise to wear my uniform all day so that all I’d have to do would be to hop in my car.” Douglas suggested, with a winning smile and a jaunty cock of his head; it was a sacrifice that he was actually willing to make if it meant that he could go home and pull out all the stops as he had planned, “Don’t try and tell me _Martin_ wouldn’t _leap_ at the chance to spend the day in his stripes.”

He would know of course; if Douglas went home, Martin would go with him. They had had it planned for weeks; their first Christmas together…nervous and a little abrupt, but nonetheless quite an exciting prospect.

“What Martin does in his spare time is none of my concern, and I’d really rather not spend too long thinking about it.” Carolyn retorted, grimacing as if the thought really did dismay her; with a sigh, she lowered her hands and looked Douglas straight in the eyes, “Let me spell it out for you – You-Are-Staying-Here-Or-I-Will-Not-Pay-You.”

“Fine.” Douglas groaned, making a show of rising elegantly to his feet, bowing out gracefully as he turned on his heel and headed towards the door; if she thought he was behaving, she might let them leave early, and that was better than nothing, “I’ll say no more about it.”

Douglas hadn’t even made it into the main office before Martin accosted him, managing to bombard him despite remaining behind his desk, hands prepped with a pen and an open log-book covered in various hands’ scrawls.

“What did she say?” Martin demanded, leaning forwards until he might have levitated across the room with the force of his will, clumsily twirling the pen between his fingers and rapping it against the table; his eyes never left Douglas as he crossed the room to sit at his desk by the adjacent wall.

“We’re not going home.” Douglas admitted, shooting a weary glance towards the door to Carolyn’s office, which she was now leaning against, watching them with a pensive light in her eyes; there was no hope of guilt-tripping her, but she was definitely feeling the pinch of forcing her employees to waste their day, enough so to linger as Douglas shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “Sorry.”

“No, that’s alright.” Martin assured him, putting on an appeased smile that didn’t entirely meet his blue eyes despite his efforts; hands still twirling, he glanced towards Carolyn and spoke a tad louder, shrugging his shoulders and making the most of it, “I-it’s a shame, but it’s not so bad, I suppose.”

“I think it’s brilliant, chaps.” Arthur declared from his perch on the sofa, where he was still knitting together the scraps of coloured paper that Douglas had hurled at him on entry that morning; his chain was at least eight feet long now, and he was still going strong, “We could do a proper Christmas, on the ground this time, so it’ll be so much better than the one to Hawaii, even though that one was _amazing_.”

“I think anything we manage on the ground would be better than the flight to Hawaii.” Martin muttered, catching Douglas’ eye for a split second; if memory served, he had actually quite enjoyed that particular trip, regardless of his almost monumental cock-up, “You spent most of it in the cupboard.”

“How do you suggest we put on a proper Christmas in the porta-cabin?” Douglas inquired, raising his eyebrows as he kicked his feet up on the desk, ignoring Martin’s tut, and span his chair around to face Arthur; he wound his hands together over his chest, “It’s not exactly the height of leisure.”

“Oh I’m sure we’ll find something.” Arthur chirped with all of his usual impenetrable confidence buoying his expression above the weary tracks that plagued everyone else; he too glanced over at Carolyn, “Won’t we Mum?”

“I’m afraid you’re on your own if you’re doing that.” Carolyn replied apologetically, sighing as her lips twisted and she narrowed her eyes, squaring her shoulders, “I’m still chasing up that lawyer who said he’d pay in instalments and never did – I’ve finally found out which firm he works for!”

“The perfect accompaniment to a Christmas day spent in a hut.” Douglas remarked, then caught himself as a bright idea occurred; it wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun as they were all bound to spend the day together whether they liked it or not, “I’ll tell you what Arthur – if you can set up a ‘proper Christmas’, I’ll _give_ you your car back. If you don’t…well, I’ve still got your car.”

“ _Douglas…”_ Martin scolded him, a sort of ‘oh behave yourself’ sigh that he had mastered to a tee, dropping his head onto one curled hand propped up on his desk; even so, he was smiling faintly when Douglas let his eyes drift across to his, which was as good a sign as any that it was affection colouring his tone.

“So it’ll be like a gift?” Arthur asked, missing the point completely; he dropped his paper chain so that he could shuffle to the edge of the sofa and interrogate Douglas more easily, “If I make the best Christmas ever, I get another gift – my car!”

“That’s the spirit.” Douglas exulted, grinning at the pleased expression that lifted Arthur’s features, lifting one hand in a scout’s salute. Just because they weren’t at home didn’t mean Christmas couldn’t be fun.

oOoOoOo

Only a few hours passed before Arthur reappeared after wandering off to arrange his perfect Christmas. Carolyn had already retreated to wage war on her ex-client, and Martin was humming to himself, scribbling something down with a jaunty smile on his face as he flicked his wrist at the end of every line. Douglas was in the process of making himself and Martin a coffee when their steward scuttled up to his side, managing to almost catch him off guard.

“Douglas, I need your help.” Arthur whispered, loud enough that Douglas saw Martin look up from the other side of the room; he was hunched slightly, as if that might help him become more inconspicuous, but it was failing miserably.

“You need my help making the best Christmas, which I happen to be betting against?” Douglas inquired, raising an eyebrow as he clicked the kettle off, prepared to start it again when the conversation was over, “I’ll admit that no one has ever tried that before…it’s an interesting tactic.”

“Yeah, because I’m not doing so well at the moment.” Arthur answered, either oblivious to the last statement or ignoring it in favour of his own needs; he _did_ look particularly downtrodden and annoyed with himself, wrapped up in his puffa-jacket, cheeks pale from standing outside, hands in his pockets.

“Oh, why not?” Douglas drawled, rolling his shoulders back resignedly as he pushed the mugs to the back of the counter, abandoning his task; it wouldn’t hurt to help him set something up, to cheer him up and make up for the loss of their real Christmas…it wasn’t as if Douglas was actually going to lose anything that wasn’t not-his already, “What do you need help with?”

“The Christmas lights – look, I’ve got loads.” Arthur turned and pointed towards the corner of the room, which Douglas was surprised to see was now filled with a pile of tangled little bulbs attached to wires; Arthur had actually done quite well in that respect, although from the narrowing of his eyes, it was clear that he didn’t think so, “The thing is though, I’m not sneaky enough to put them up, and I don’t know how to.”

“What do you mean you’re not sneaky enough?” Douglas retorted as he stared, bewildered, at the tangled mess and slipped his hands into his pockets; a small part of him preened at the underlying praise in that statement, the admiring assumption that he could fix the problem.

“Well I spoke to George about putting them up, and he said I’d need to use the generator outside the porta-cabin, but he’s not going to do it, and I’m not allowed to do it.” Arthur explained, exasperated, as if he just couldn’t believe that such a tragedy had befallen him, “But I thought, if we keep them inside, then he’ll never know – so could you help me hook the lights up to the generator because I don’t know how?”

There was no denying, Arthur had put a lot of thought into what was effectively a simple plan; it was impressive work for a clot. That was at least worth a little bit of help.

“I suppose I could Google the generator’s make and find out how.” Douglas informed him, furrowing his brow in thought as he tried to stir up everything he knew about electrics; Martin would probably be more help, as a potential electrician in the making, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Brilliant.” Arthur exclaimed, leaping forwards to pat Douglas on the arm in thanks, “I knew you’d know how to do it.”

That was how Douglas found himself outside the porta-cabin in -1° cold on Christmas day, elbow deep in the rusted generator with handfuls of cheap Christmas lights.

oOoOoOo

“Hey, Douglas.” Arthur announced himself for the third time since he had begun his quest, just as Douglas was about to deal out a pack of cards between himself, Martin, and Carolyn; he was still kitted out in his coat, frosted and a little bit damp, but in high spirits, “I’ve got another problem.”

“What?” Douglas paused, hands stilling as he turned to peer over his shoulder; there couldn’t possibly be anything else he needed fixing.

“I don’t have any Christmas food, for the Christmas dinner.” Arthur explained hastily, with the sincerity of someone suffering a great loss as he blinked his big brown eyes down at the three of them, “I thought I’d go down to the shops and get some, but they’re all closed.”

“Well it _is_ Christmas day.” Martin noted, doing his best to look appeasing and sorry for having to tell such a sad truth; he wasn’t doing a good job, as he kept one eye on Carolyn the whole time, “Nobody else is at work.”

“Arthur, does the microwave in GERTI have a convection setting?” Douglas asked before Carolyn could respond and an argument could start again; he was actually beginning to settle into their porta-cabin Christmas, partly due to watching Arthur’s slap-dash celebration grow piece by piece, “One that shows you temperatures when you press the button?”

“Yes, it does!” Arthur replied brightly, although Douglas doubted as he withdrew his hands from his coat pockets and clapped them together that he knew what he was about to suggest.

“Alright.” Douglas sighed, and letting his eyes fall closed for a moment to dispel the desire to say no, he dropped the cards to the desk, rose to his feet and strode to where his coat hung, digging into his pockets before turning to Arthur hand outstretched; it wasn’t as if he needed what he was offering anymore anyway, “These are the keys to my flat…go in the fridge and get all of the food on the middle three shelves. That should do you a proper Christmas dinner.”

“Thanks Douglas.” Arthur chirped, snatching the keys from him and striding away without any further ado, door clanging shut before Douglas truly had time to see him go; well…there was only so much damage he could do…it wasn’t as if he’d been given the car keys.

“You do realise that you’re going to lose your bet?” Carolyn remarked once Douglas took his seat around the desk; Martin was watching him with an odd look in his eyes, but she was smirking, shark-like and pleased with herself as she shuffled the pack of cards between her hands, “You’ll have to give him his car back.”

“What can I say?” Douglas sighed, letting his hands hand helplessly in the air; there was very little that he could do without upsetting Arthur, and even that would be unforgiveable on Christmas day of all days, “I’m just brimming with Christmas cheer.”

oOoOoOo

“What are you doing up here?” Douglas demanded as he heard, then saw, Martin clattering past the curtain into the Galley where he was overseeing the cooking of their dinner; he had both of their flight-bags in his hand and was flushed the charming shade of red that he went when he thought he was being clever, “I thought you were going to stay and help Carolyn with her paperwork.”

“Well, you know how we were going to spend Christmas together, a-at yours?” Martin asked as he lowered their bags onto the floor and stood up straight, leaning against the counter over which Douglas had spread the raw food as it waited for the microwave to stop whirring; as he spoke his eyes darted from Douglas to his hands, which turned loose circles in the air between them, “A-and it was going to be a…well it was going to be a sort of…a _thing_?”

“A sort of _romantic_ thing?” Douglas provided for him, wetting his lips as he waited for Martin’s outward reaction; it was still strange, but also oddly pleasant to consider, and the unusual turns that his stomach took at the suggestion of romance with _Martin_ hadn’t quite faded yet.

“Yeah – just a nice…a nice day…f-for us. It was going to be nice.” Martin stammered, trailing off towards the end as he clasped his hands together; he met Douglas’ gaze, and took a deep breath in the same second that Douglas acknowledged inwardly that it was a shame that they had missed out on their day together, “Well…w-well, I thought that as we’re not doing that anymore, then we could do presents now…while Carolyn and Arthur are doing other things.”

“Why?” Douglas smirked, unable to stop himself from prodding as he too leaned against the counter, angling himself ever so slightly towards Martin, so that if he leaned forwards they would be a hair’s breadth away from each other, “Did you buy me something illicit?”

“N-no!” Martin flushed furiously and threw his hands into the air; then gave Douglas one of his ‘yeah, yeah’ faces and swallowed hard, tipping his nose into the air as he carried on talking, “I just thought…well…gift giving…i-it’s personal, isn’t it? You buy presents for friends and it’s not a big deal, but when you buy presents for…for your…for someone you have feelings for…it means something e-even if the present isn’t a very good one.”

“Yes, Captain, I think it probably does.” Douglas agreed, nodding solemnly, taking great care not to seem too amused; it wouldn’t do to annoy him whilst there was still so much of the day left, and so much that could be salvaged.

“Right, yes, well.” Martin stammered as he knelt down and unzipped his flight-bag, pulling from it two lumpy packages covered in tape; he rose to his full height and held them out as if they might bite him if he kept them close, “That’s why I brought these up, so that we could do it with some privacy.”

Douglas decided that it was best not to say anything else, for Martin’s peace of mind, and took the gifts from him. In truth, he was touched…he really was. Martin still didn’t make a lot and most definitely couldn’t afford to be buying him _anything_ , but he had obviously put a lot of effort into finding Christmassy coloured paper and taping up every loose corner. It almost seemed a shame to tear them open, but Douglas made himself keep a schooled expression as he placed the discarded paper on the counter and let the soft woollen garments hang over his hands.

Inwardly, he was smiling, humming with affection as he took in the two rather charming jumpers that Martin had given him; the colours weren’t awful, dark shades of green (the only colour that he didn’t already own…for good reason), and they were actually…exactly the sort of thing he would have bought for himself. Oh…he was a soppy bastard…it shouldn’t have been so nice for someone to actually _know_ what he wanted for once.

“You hate them, don’t you?” Martin demanded after another moment of silence; he was almost defiant as he rocked on his heels, determined in his own failure to take the fall with pride, “I knew I shouldn’t have tried, but I thought they were right when I bought them.”

“Martin, they’re lovely.” Douglas assured him, hastily folding the jumpers over his arm before placing them on top of the wrapping paper, freeing up his hands; he was almost tentative when he looked Martin in the eyes, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “Really, they are…you’ve actually been paying attention what I wear.”

“A bit, yeah.” Martin admitted, shrugging his shoulders and pushing the back of his hand under his nose, “So you like them?”

“I do…thank you.” Douglas answered without a shred of sarcasm; feeling that things were becoming a little too anxious for the middle of the day, he pulled his own flight-bag closer with the tip of his boot and bent down to root through it, locating the gift that he had hidden at the bottom, “Hold on a minute and I’ll get yours.”

Without another word as he rose to his feet, Douglas passed Martin one large package that he had bundled together the night before, then stood back and waited for him to open it. Martin unwrapped it with all of his usual precision, peering down at the various leather bound books of different sizes, brow furrowing as he turned the pages and found different line formats and dates and tables, all sorts of things.

“They’re for your filing system.” Douglas explained, when the silence became too much for him to bear; he didn’t ever ramble, but he felt compelled to make himself clear, “There’s a new log book, a big company one, a journal, a diary, something for you to do your calculations in, all sorts…you can look through them in a bit. I thought, as you enjoy keeping tabs on everything, and you’re always complaining about how the rest of us document our flights, that you could redo the lot…set everything up the way you want it, from the beginning.”

“Douglas…that’s perfect.” Martin breathed, voice filled with wonder as he looked at the books; of course he would enjoy the idea of redoing all of MJN’s paperwork, doing it the Martin Crieff way, “Wow, that’s…I love it – that’s a lovely idea, I…thank you.”

He shook his head as if to clear it, and then looked up at Douglas as if unsure what to do, taking a half-step forwards.

“Oh, come here.” Douglas sighed, opening his arms and nodding his assent, eyes on the floor so that Martin couldn’t see how pleased he was; that would have been far too much for the middle of the day, and far too much for the airfield of all places.

Martin didn’t need any more encouragement, and once he had freed himself of the books, he stepped forwards and pulled Douglas into a hug that sent his teetering back for a fraction of a second, until he wrapped his arms around Martin’s back to steady himself. That alone was far nicer than anything they could have bought each other, not that Douglas would ever admit it, even as he enjoyed the press of Martin’s cheek against his. It was almost worth spending Christmas at work.

oOoOoOo

On entering the porta-cabin, the two of them were met with what could only be described as a madman’s wonderland. Somehow Arthur had strung up all the lights, found a tree, and stuck various things to the ceiling. He was now sitting at Martin’s desk with Carolyn, sipping what smelt like mulled wine.

“You know, Douglas, I think you might be giving Arthur his car back.” Martin remarked as he shifted the stack of Christmas potatoes and vegetables between his arms, offering Douglas a cheeky smile, though they both had stopped in the doorway for fear of treading any further, “This is…well, this is about 500% more than a proper Christmas…this is…”

“Mega-Christmas!” Arthur declared, throwing his hands into the air, face lit up with pure joy as he surveyed his creation, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s something alright.” Carolyn muttered, taking a lengthy sip from her glass of mulled wine; she barely spared a glance for the armfuls of food that the two of them were bringing, only curled her hand through the air like a monarch and summoned them forwards.

“Where did he get the mistletoe?” Martin’s voice hissed into Douglas’ ear in the same moment as his arm pressed up against his, suspicion laced through his every intonation; the food in his arms did nothing to impede the conspiratorial proximity.

“I don’t know.” Douglas murmured, peering up at the ceiling; there _was_ a lot of the stuff, dotted here there and everywhere across the length of the porta-cabin; he wondered fleetingly if Arthur understood the significance, then swiftly remembered that of course he did; there wasn’t a Christmas rom-com that Arthur hadn’t seen, “There isn’t anyone in Fitton that _sells_ mistletoe.”

“ _Why_ did he get the mistletoe?” Martin hissed, more frantically this time, breath hot against Douglas’ ear.

“I don’t know.” Douglas replied, blinking back at Martin; he really had no idea. It wasn’t as if Arthur knew that anyone in the room was going to be kissing anyone else any time soon; he probably just thought it looked festive.

An hour later, the mistletoe began to look a lot less festive, and a lot more alluring. It was incredible what good food and hot mulled wine could do for someone’s mood, and Douglas was thoroughly enjoying himself; as he rinsed the plates in the tiny sink by the kettle, he only wished that he had been able to enjoy himself alone with Martin, instead of there…then again…

“Mmmmm.” Martin groaned deliciously as he came to lean back against the draining board, rubbing his hand over his stomach as he watched Douglas take his hands from the water and flick them dry, passing his a tea towel, “I am well and truly stuffed – couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Hmmmm.” Douglas hummed in agreement, contentment really as he settled back and smiled warmly across at him; it was true, he often had doubts, but he was most definitely not having them now, not even a little bit, “I can only think of one thing that would make losing Arthur’s car worthwhile.”

When Martin only raised his eyebrows inquisitively, Douglas lifted his arm and brushed the tip of his finger underneath the bundle of leaves that was hanging over their heads; he had noticed it when he had walked over there, and it had been on his mind for a while.

“But, Carolyn and Arthur are here.” Martin whispered, dropping his voice in an instant as he leaned in, hunching like Gollum as his eyes darted towards the others; when Douglas only shrugged, he stilled and straightened up, mouth falling open as he _stared_ at him, “D-d-do you…I mean are you…?”

“You know what, Martin?” Dougal remarked, turning towards him fully and placing his hand flat on the edge of the sink; he was feeling daring, and a little bit too comfortable in his own skin, and it was very nice watching Martin become so stunned, “I don’t think I mind anymore…I’m alright with them seeing.”

“B-but that would be like…” Martin’s lips curled into a smile, and he let out an awkward laugh, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed, “That suggests you’re sure about…that we’re an actual _thing_ , me and you, a-and...” his hand stopped turning circles between them, and he dragged his bottom lip through his teeth, stilling and leaning closer to Douglas as realisation clouded his eyes, “Wow…um…I um…I don’t mind either.”

The shy little smile that lit up Martin’s face lit up something in Douglas’ chest and he was able to dispel any doubts that had been lingering in the back of his mind.

“Then come here.” Douglas invited him, curling the fingers of his free hand to usher him closer; he shot a quick glance up at the mistletoe to reinforce the invitation, and was pleased to see that as he looked down again, Martin was nodding determinedly, turning his head to spare a glance for Carolyn and Arthur, but leaning closer.

It was only a brief kiss, with Douglas leaning in as Martin tilted his head to the side and pushed their lips together, hooking his hand into the open lapel of Douglas’ jacket; Douglas’ hand rested on Martin’s shoulder for a moment, before they parted, slipping down to his elbow, to pass over his hand and squeeze lightly, before retracting completely.

Meeting Martin’s eyes, Douglas inhaled deeply and plastered on a confident smirk, pleased to see Martin puff out his chest and feed off that confidence. He was the first to turn back to the rest of the porta-cabin, with Douglas following a moment later, only to pause imperceptibly before marching back to the desks that they had pushed together to play cards over.

Both of their colleagues were wide eyed and open mouthed…so much for not caring what they were doing.

“ _Guys!”_ Arthur let out a long breath, pressing his hands to his cheeks in a cartoonish display of surprise; as Martin and Douglas pulled out their chairs and took their seats on opposite sides of the desk, his turned his head between them and gasped, “Chaps…are you…are you really?”

“Um…sort of…yeah…” Martin shrugged his shoulders and blushed furiously, slipping his hands over the desk to take the deck of card and shuffle them clumsily between his hands; he most pointedly didn’t look at anyone, but didn’t stop smiling either.

“More or less.” Douglas added in a drawl, because for once he felt that Martin could use his support; although, he was beginning to feel the odd prickle of Carolyn’s eyes on him, the judgement and scolding that she wouldn’t direct towards Martin.

“That is BRILLIANT!” Arthur exclaimed, clapping his hands together and lurching forwards until he was leaning bodily on the desk, eyes wide in wonder; in retrospect, Douglas didn’t know what else he had expected, “Aw, chaps…”

“I can honestly say that I didn’t see that coming…” Carolyn said, slowly, as if she were testing the words on her tongue; she had never looked so confused, expression pinched, sitting back against her chair, peering between the two of them, “Well…it’s still not the strangest thing you’ve done.”

“Can we move on now?” Martin demanded, clearing his throat and abandoning the cards; with a bright smile, slightly strained, but pleasant when his eyes were trained on Douglas, he grasped his glass of mulled wine and raised it into the air, “L-let’s do a toast.”

“Yes, I think a toast is in order.” Douglas agreed, taking up his own glass and raising it up, waiting for the others to do the same; Christmas cheer, that was what they were celebrating, the time of togetherness and of not lingering too long on the nervous outing themselves that he and Martin had just partaken in, “Arthur, would you care to do the honours?”

“Yes please!” Arthur exulted, raising his glass and sloshing mulled wine onto the desk; he was grinning ear to ear and spoke too loud, but it was enough to distract all of them, “To Christmas and MJN and even more brilliant things happening next year! Amen and cheers!”

Douglas met Martin’s eyes across the desk and couldn’t help but smile as the Captain buried his face in his wine glass. For a Christmas spent in the porta-cabin, it hadn’t been bad at all.


End file.
